There ain't a single **** star that feels me.
Neither do the toucans and hummingbirds,
This picture's worth a hundred words.
My pitcher was a funnel first;
If it was half-empty,
I'd be somersaulting,
shook and stirred
High off life
Instead of hiding my face from the sky,
A little birdie tells me, "it won't be alright."
I change the covers of these books,
'Cause that's as far as you'll look
But I'll write in invisible ink just in case.
Then laugh
about how I've managed to paint and erase
Simultaneously
The only one who I amaze is me.
One-hundred.
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 11:10 PM UTC
There ain't a single **** star that feels me.
Neither do the toucans and hummingbirds,
This picture's worth a hundred words.
My pitcher was a funnel first;
If it was half-empty,
I'd be somersaulting,
shook and stirred
High off life
Instead of hiding my face from the sky,
A little birdie tells me, "it won't be alright."
I change the covers of these books,
'Cause that's as far as you'll look
But I'll write in invisible ink just in case.
Then laugh
about how I've managed to paint and erase
Simultaneously
The only one who I amaze is me.
One-hundred.
